


Here we come a Wassailing

by angelamulry



Category: Players - Antonia Forest, The Marlows - Antonia Forest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:00:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21973990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelamulry/pseuds/angelamulry
Summary: Merry Christmas, Just something for the season
Kudos: 13





	Here we come a Wassailing

The rain beat down more heavily as the party left the mill. It was cold that Twelfth Night and the men walked quickly, the next dwelling to visit was Mariot Chase and there would be food and drink as well as money to support them through the winter months. The older men carried the Wassail bowl and the younger ones followed behind.  
“He didn’t recognise you then?” Michael asked.  
William shook his head. “I’m well disguised,” he said. “Grandfather would not like to think of me wassailing and celebrating Christmas.”  
“Pity,” grunted Michael. “I’ve heard of Christmas when the Good Queen Bess was alive. If only we lived then.”  
“We don’t,” said William. “We are at least following the old traditions now. And whatever happens in London, they cannot see us”.  
“How they expect us to live”, grumbled Michael, “and this mud,” as he squelched through another puddle. They walked quietly across the fields, no moon but a lantern to guide their steps. “And the Merricks are generous,” he continued, “although Papists.”  
Reuben nodded. I’ll stay back he said. Then my grandfather will not know that I am going into their house.”  
Michael shot him a glance. “My great grandfather was a preacher and the most puritan of them all. I really don’t mind. He’s gone. We will all be gone one day. Might as well enjoy what life has to offer,” and he smiled reminiscently.  
William, shook his head. They had arrived at the house and stood around the door waiting. Old Solomon Telfer raised his arm and they began to sing:

‘Here we come a Wassailing  
Among the leaves so green  
Here we come a wandering  
So fair to be seen  
Love and joy come to you  
And to you your wassail too  
And God bless you and send you a Happy New Year and God send you a Happy New Year.

The door opened and a young man stood there, dressed in a blue lacy suite. Michael and William stared, they had never seen a man wearing anything but sombre clothes  
“Drink well,” he said, taking the cup Thomas Prescott offered hi. and drinking from it. “Will you come in?” There was a quizzical look in his eyes as he looked at the villagers.  
“Thank you, Sir,” said Solomon and, much to the joy of the younger men, he entered the hall.  
A woman, just as colourfully dressed, came into the hall followed by a boy of ten or eleven, William thought. She was recognised as Mrs Merrick, the widow of Anthony Merrick. “Welcome,” she said and pushing the boy forward said, “Anthony, will you do the honours?”  
The boy started, his light amber eyes shone in the candlelight. “Please come this way,” he said, leading the way across the hall, below the minstrel’s gallery and towards the kitchen where food and ale was waiting for them. The Merricks stayed with them, Mrs Merrick introduced the young man as her brother, just returned from France. After eating, the group sang again whilst Mrs Merrick and her brother danced. The staff in the house came and joined in. Anthony sat on one side watching. William wondered what he was thinking.  
As they left, Anthony stood by the door, passing a coin to each man as he left. On the doorstep, the group turned and sang

God bless the master of this house,  
Likewise, the mistress too  
God bless the little children that round the table go

And William and Michael giggled as the refrain was sung out. The rain had eased somewhat and the group stopped to discuss their plans.  
“Home now?” suggested Edmond Herbert. “No reason to go to the Marlows. We know they are as Puritan as they come. Probably run us off their land.”  
“Maybe, maybe not,” said Solomon Telfer, “but it is Christmas, and they are our neighbours.”  
“I’m going home,” announced Edmond Herbert. “I don’t want to visit that evil house. No, and you boys,” he turned to William and Michael, “you listen to your elders. Stay away from there.”  
“I am going to visit them,” said Telfer firmly.  
“It will be the death of him,” muttered Michael to William.  
“I don’t understand,” muttered William, “they will visit a papist house but not one of their own?”  
“The Merricks are gentry and we all have come away with money and food for our families. The Marlows are not and who knows what we will get. Also, Malise Marlow betrayed Anthony Merrick at the siege of Colbrook Castle. The village remembers that.” He smiled suddenly, “And dealt with it in their own way!”  
William nodded. He remembered the body being discovered in the mill pool. Ask no questions, his grandfather had said and William still followed that maxim. Michael looked at him as if to tell him about it but William did not respond so he turned his attention to the group.  
By this time the acrimonious discussion had ceased. Most men turned back to the village. Solomon and a couple of others were ready to go to Trennels. “Well lads,” asked Solomon, “what do you want to do?”  
“We are coming.” said Michael hastily.  
“Yes,” agreed William.  
“Good,” said Solomon. “Who has got the bowl?  
"I have," said Prescott, “And old man, if you need an arm..”  
For a moment Telfer looked annoyed and then they all burst out laughing. Antony Merrick, saying his bedtime prayers in his room hoping that his father would have been proud of him, heard them and added a small prayer that one day he could join them.  
They walked quickly across the downs to the stream, across Cobbs Field to the Farmhouse. There were lights in the house and the group quickly assembled before the front door. Solomon raised his arm again and the Wassailing tune sang out again. William found himself breathless as if something was about to happen, whether it be good or bad he was not sure. At this time of night, they could be run out of the farmhouse. The door opened and Tom Prescott stepped forward with the bowl. He stopped, a young girl stood at the door and behind her they could hear singing from one of the rooms downstairs. It sounded like an echo of what they were singing. The young girl smiled at them,  
“Please, will you come in and sing for my grandfather, we have just returned from London, and it would be so kind of you.”  
“Your grandfather?” said Thomas stupefied, as far as the villagers were aware, there was one family at the farmhouse, belonging to Peter Marlow. The older generation had been carried away by the plague and Peter and his son Mathew were the only ones who remained. As far as the villagers knew there were no women in the house, and no women wanted to go to the house. Malise had ensured that his father and brother were shunned by the village. They managed their farm their way and sold their goods at Colebridge rather than Westbridge.  
The girl smiled, “My name is Bess Marlow,” she said, “My grandfather is Nicholas Arden the actor, but his real name is Nicholas Marlow.”  
“Nick Marlow?” Solomon Telfer shouted., “He was my schoolfriend. I thought he was dead!”  
“No, come in and see him, he is in the parlour.”  
The men entered the farmhouse and Bess took them across the hall into the parlour. An old man was sitting by the fire, his hair silver and his eyes blue. He looked fragile but he was still singing when the men entered and he smiled at them.  
“Welcome,” he said, “It’s Twelfth Night and the revels can begin.”  
“Oh Grandfather,” said Bess but Solomon Telfer came forward. “Nick, I’m Solomon Telfer, do you remember me?” he asked eagerly and put out his hand. Nicholas looked at him, took the hand and memory began to return, “Solomon Telfer,” he said slowly, “Of course, is Adam Gates still here?” He looked eagerly at the other man.  
Solomon shook his head, “His nephew is here,” he said pushing William forward.  
“He’s my Great Uncle,” said William hastily, “He now lives in New England. He settled in Plymouth. I am going to join him in the spring when I can board a ship. I can pass on your regards.”  
Nicholas nodded at him. “The last time we met was Plymouth here” he said, “I was looking to leave the Ark Royal. I had finished my service and wanted to get back to the Company. You will enjoy the trip, sailing the sea is a wonderful experience, just you and the sea and nothing else. If you get an opportunity, climb up the masts and look towards the horizon. Always look to the horizon.”  
The other men were introduced, Thomas Prescott, Hilary Catchpole and Michael Tapertoe. Nicholas looked at Michael, “Zadok’s Grandson?” “Great Grandson,” grinned Michael. “How he scared us with his comments on the evils of pleasure and the stage,” said Nicholas. “Now, we are all supposed to think that. Do you all?”  
There was a hasty denial by all. Bess re-entered the parlour carrying ale and cakes and accompanied by her uncle and cousin. Thomas Prescott, quickly glancing at Solomon picked up the Wassail bowl, warming by the fire and offered it to first Peter and then Mathew.  
“Drink well,” said Peter, smiling. “Now sit down and let’s talk.”  
“Are you back for good, Nick” asked Telfer.  
Bess and her grandfather looked at each other and then Bess smiled at Mathew. “Yes,” she said, “We have lost my parents, brother and Grandmother, but I am marrying Mathew and Grandfather will make his home with us.”  
They were congratulated by everyone in the room and toasts were drunk. Solomon started singing to himself in his seat by the fire, 

“When I was and a little tiny boy,  
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,  
A foolish thing was but a toy  
For the rain it raineth every day,”

The company laughed as the wind threw the rain against the windows. Then turning they saw that Nicholas looked upset and tears were running down his cheeks. Solomon checked, and everyone looked concerned. “I was remembering the first time I heard that song,” he said, “My friend Humphrey Danvers wrote the music, and of course, Will Shakespeare the words. We performed it at court.” His voice sank away, the audience waited. He laughed at their eager faces, “Will was asked to write a play for Twelfth Night at Court. The Queen had a high-ranking visitor to impress, from Italy who couldn’t speak English perfectly, so singing and dancing had to be included. She also wanted to remind one of her cousins of courtly behaviour, and Will remembered Misrule and was able to mock him through that. We had eleven days in which to write and rehearse the play.” Nicholas took a sip of wine as he smiled remembering those days. Everyone remained transfixed.

“We spent much of our time in the next few days, once it was written copying out the play, in full for the Master of Revels so that it could be licensed and also a copy for the Lord Chancellor to approve it. And then all the separate parts, which went to the Sharers, players, for them to learn their parts. Rehearsals were convened urgently before the licence was granted although the costumes were not started until after that.” 

“I was cast as Viola, Will wrote her for me and I played opposite Burbage as Orsino. My overriding memory is that my voice has started to break and I was hoping that it would last out. I didn’t want to pass Viola onto Lecky, my understudy but on the day of the performance the company heard it crack.” He laughed, “I was a selfish youth that day, although I was worrying about it, so perhaps not that selfish, but when you get a part like that..”

William suddenly realised that he wanted to keep this memory for all time, to remember when in his new country. He could tell his future neighbours of the evening he heard Will Shakespeare being spoke of as a man, not just a playwright. However, New England, from what he could see, would not be much different from old England, just as Puritanical. There were inhabitants from different nations there though, maybe it might change.

“What did the actors do when they heard?” asked Michael. Nicholas looked ruefully at him, “They were angry of course but it was too late to do anything about it and I was told to continue as I had been doing as I had controlled it during rehearsals.”

“What was it like playing at Court in front of the Queen?” asked Hilary Catchpole, diffidently.

“It was the Queen who made or marred the performance,” said Nicholas. “When I played Juliet, I felt that she was the one person in the audience who wanted me to play well. She was the first to respond to the action and I gave my all back to her. Again, at Twelfth Night, she enjoyed the play and we all played the better because of it. Heminge though played the best as Malvolio, aping Sir William Knollys as the Queen had requested.

When we played Hamlet, the Queen was distrait. She had just signed the death warrant for Lord Essex. How courtiers interfered with plays. That was the day I realised she was old. That she would soon die, that my childhood had ended and that perhaps the hopes for the future for a number of people had ended. A few days later I found myself in Deptford and met Adam and joined him on the Ark Royal, until my voice was mended.”

There was a little silence. Solomon looked up, “It was a good time to be young,” he said, “Even we in the country knew we were living in a good age. Drake and Ralegh at sea. Yes, we had our problems, the plague, bad harvests but we could see glimpses of glory. The players on tour, performing a play,” he looked at Nicholas, “I may have seen you once, I saw a company play The Merry Wives of Windsor one market day in Streweminster?” Nicholas shook his head, “I re-joined them that evening, I had been here to visit my brother, but he was away.” In his turn he looked at Peter, “You would have been away then also.”

“And we never knew until a few years later when you arrived here.” Peter looked pensive. “Father was pleased to see you but also pleased to see you go.”

“We had nothing to say to each other, we had separated too long before,” said Nick unhappily. “My family was Will and the company and then Dickon and his family. I still miss my Bess.” Bess came up and embraced him. “We are here now Grandfather and like you say, we are looking towards the horizon. You can keep us entertained with stories of the Company and you have a copy of the plays,”

“Yes,” said Nicholas happily. “We can read them and, if not act them, then we can keep them fresh. I have also got a copy of some of Ben Jonson’s works and discovered some by Kit Marlowe recently”

“We can start a library,” grunted Mathew, “I’m sure we can find a room!”

“With Hackluyt's Voyages which I brought with me also, the sailing adventures of Frobisher, Drake et al,” said Nicholas. “Before you go,” he looked at William, “Would you like to read them?”

“Yes,” said both William and Michael, Michael looking enthusiastic. “I would like to go trading in a ship,” he said,

Thomas Prescott and Hilary Catchpole looked at each other. “Possibly the best thing you could do,” said Prescott. “Get you away from the company you are keeping,” Michael reddened, “and will use up all your surplus energy,.” said Catchpole. He looked at Nicholas, “My Grandfather, Philip Catchpole knew you, he was upset when he found out you had supposedly died,” “I lost him his job,” said Nicholas. “All through quoting Christopher Marlowe. My apologies.” Hilary looked excited, “You met Marlowe too?”  
“Here, in this room,” Nicholas started but Bess came forward, “Grandfather it’s getting late, the men can come another day and you can tell them about Marlowe then,” They all nodded. “Maybe we will all dine together one evening, but now we need to let them get back to their homes.”

And she ushered the visitors to the door. The rain still was falling but they all assured her they would soon be home and dry. She watched them walk across the farmyard, singing 

God Bless the Master of this House  
Likewise, the Mistress too  
God Bless the little children that round the table go

Bess blushed and went to close the door but there was a voice singing from within the house, they paused and heard Nicholas singing

Come Away, Come Away, Death  
And in Sad Cypress let me be laid  
Fly Away, Fly Away, Breath  
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.  
My Shroud of white, stuck all with Yew  
O, Prepare it  
My part of death, no one so true  
Did share it.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet  
On my black coffin let there be strown  
Not a friend, not a friend greet  
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown  
A thousand thousand sighs to save  
Lay me, O, where  
Sad true lover never find my grave  
To weep there!


End file.
